


Well Intentioned

by salable_mystic



Category: Vorkosigan Saga - Lois McMaster Bujold
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Domesticity, F/M, Hijinks & Shenanigans, Sergyar, author is not a native speaker of english, daily life on Sergyar
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-21
Updated: 2020-10-21
Packaged: 2021-03-08 17:56:00
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,250
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27140737
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/salable_mystic/pseuds/salable_mystic
Summary: Vicereine Cordelia Naismith Vorkosigan and Viceroy Aral Vorkosigan receive an invitation.
Relationships: Aral Vorkosigan/Cordelia Naismith Vorkosigan
Comments: 8
Kudos: 19
Collections: Trick or Treat Exchange 2020





	Well Intentioned

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sophiegaladheon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sophiegaladheon/gifts).



> Dear sophiegaladheon, I hope you enjoy this fic.

„Aral, what is this?” Cordelia Naismith Vorkosigan asked, holding up a colorful and extravagantly embossed invitation to her husband Aral, former Admiral of the Barrayaran Fleet, former Regent of said Barrayaran Empire, and current Viceroy of Sergyar, as she strode into their shared study.

“Hmm? What is what, dear Captain?” the latter asked, glancing up from the documents he was perusing at his desk, a hint of mischief playing around his eyes and also visible in the smile that was forming on his face, once he beheld the document she was holding out in his direction.

“Oh, that. It is but nothing. Merely an invitation to the ‘Youths Of Sergyars’ Incredible Terrifying Spooky Ostentatious Unbeliebable Rad Never-before Experienced Wonderful Haunted Old Mansion Experience’. I’ve already accepted for both of us, of course.”

“Of course you have. Naturally. And not only that-" Cordelia chuckled and shook her head fondly at her husband, "-you also memorized the name of the event? I am impressed! How else would the Viceroy of Sergyar spend their time?”

She nodded decisively, then raised the document to eye-level and held it out in front of her at arms’ length, inspecting it with a frown. “And, yes, that is what I have also understood it to be - an invitation to said event, I mean - after all, the document goes to great length to clearly state as much. It’s hard to miss, isn't it - from the bold color choices to the overly-large words and the enthusiastic embossing that someone performed on this unfortunate piece of paper. Why, I think there’s a hole in the paper where this ‘E’ was somewhat embossed ... through ... the paper.” The Countess poked at the paper with her free hand. “And is that … glitter?” Cordelia frowned at the paper, then at her husband, then at the paper again.

Aral Vorkosigan leaned back in his chair, legs stretching out in front of him, and linked his hands behind his neck, regarding her with and amused, indulgent gaze.

“As to the glitter: I really could not say. But anyway … you have a question? Questions? About the event? The document in itself? Both?”

She shrugged. “Well, I don’t know if I have questions so much as … complaints?" Cordelia gave a thoughtful hum. "No, complaints is not exactly the right word for what I am feeling when it comes to this invitation either . … regret?” She nodded. “Yes, regret about covers it.”

He frowned and leaned forward in his chair, gaze growing intent and serious, humor vanishing from his air, all his attention on her.

“You regret that I have already accepted the invitation? Cordelia, would you have preferred not to go? I can, of course, still decline, cite unexpected imperial business – but, my dear Captain, I had thought this would be something you might be interested in nurturing. Social activities for young people are still scarce on Sergyar, and this is both an entirely self-organized and inclusive youth club.”

She waved him off. “No, no, my dear Viceroy, you are mistaking my meaning. I do not regret you accepting the invitation on our behalf, not at all. I am quite looking forward to meeting these Youths of Sergyar at their -” she glanced down at the document again, reading out the rest of the name off of the paper “- Incredible, Terrifying, Spooky, Ostentatious, Unbelievable, Rad, Never-before Experienced, Wonderful, Haunted Old Mansion Experience. How could I not?”

Aral relaxed back in his chair again, but kept frowning up at her. “What is it then that you regret? Have regrets about? Feel regretful for?”

"This!" Cordelia waved the embossed invitation in his direction empathetically. They both winced as a small cloud of glitter detached itself from the paper and drifted down to the corner of the Viceroy’s desk, where it settled gently on to a stack of what looked to be fairly important court documents.

Cordelia watched the glittery dust settle, then shook the paper again, experimentally. More glittery dust emerged.

"Cordelia ..."

"Right, right. Sorry. It's just so ..." she shrugged.

The Vicereine held the invitation carefully still as she walked around the Viceroy's desk. She perched on its corner – the corner not covered in court documents and glitter - and turned to face her husband, where he was leaning back in his office chair. He moved his legs, so that they could tangle with hers, and she playfully nudged his knee with her shin.

“I regret, to be honest, that they are only reaching out to us now. I mean – the color scheme and overall … design … here is … eye-catching … I’ll grant them that! But – the name?”

He shrugged, a grin again spreading over his face, “Well, you can’t fault their enthusiasm.”

She nodded in agreement, “No, no, I certainly can’t. And I entirely support their intent – but, really –“ Cordelia read out the name of the event again, making sure to carefully over-emphasize the first letter of each individual word, “the **Y** outh **o** f **S** ergyars’ **I** ncredible, **T** errifying, **S** pooky, **O** stentatious, **U** nbelievable, **R** ad, **N** ever-before **E** xperienced, **W** onderful, **H** aunted **O** ld **M** ansion **E** xperience.” She paused. “That makes it – if you missed it, which I am sure you didn’t, given both your smirk and the way those letters seem to be trice the size of all the others _and_ were extra-extra-extra-embossed on this here document – Y.O.S. I.T.S. O.U.R. N.E.W. H.O.M.E." The Countess effected a tasteful moue, "‘Yos it’s our new home’. ‘Yos it’s our new home’? Really? And – rad? Of all possible adjectives, rad? Why not use, oh, I don’t know … radiant, raucous, rarified? And they have 'experience' in there twice! And – and – do you think they were going for ‘yes’? As in, ‘YES it’s our new home’?” Cordelia shook her head, trying her hardest to project an air of rightful despair – which, when fighting laughter, and also trying not to accidentally shake loose more glitter from the invitation, was not an easy feat.

Aral had started to chuckle during her semi-serious tirade and was now laughing outright, wiping tears from his eyes. She eyed him, a grin escaping onto her own face, delighted both by the topic at hand and, above all, by seeing him so relaxed and cheerful. Life on Sergyar, for all its trials, tribulations and ridiculousness – case in point – definitely suited him. Case also in point.

Once he had calmed down again, the Viceroy shrugged, “Well, I think they were stuck with the term ‘Youths of Sergyar’, given that that is the name of their association, or they would surely have found a … more … fitting … preposition that starts with the letter E.”

Cordelia replied, dryly, “Oh, I am sure they would have.”

She paused and frowned down at the paper again, in all its glittery, awkward, over-enthusiastic, magnificence. Then she looked up at him, her expression serious.

“But, you know what? I take it back.”

“You take back …?

“My regret, dear Viceroy, my regret. I think, not having had a hand in organizing or designing any part of this experience, and having left it all to the Youths of Sergyar, will make it much more … experience-able.”

Aral Vorkosigan snorted. “Well, we shall certainly see, my dear Captain. We shall certainly see. It will certainly be more genuine.”

She nodded. “Genuinely and authenitcally Sergyaran. I like it.”

The Vicereine leaned forward, and rustled the paper at her husband.

Aral Vorkosigan, Viceroy of Sergyar, laughed as a cloud of glitter enveloped him.

-&-&-&-


End file.
